Poor Pistolkins
by PPP SSC
Summary: Set in present-day. Pistol, 27, comes up with a scheme to get free stuff by claiming her older brother's tragic history as her own, which works well, until one of her marks meets him; PJ tries to get Pistol to see why Pete is a bad role model. Rated K-plus for brief mild adult themes and mild language.


Poor Pistolkins

2015

Pistol Pete was used to getting what she wanted, and she knew exactly how to get it. After puberty, she was never left wanting for boyfriends. She picked up some tricks of the trade from her father, whom she admired greatly. Despite being told by her mother and her brother that he was bad news repeatedly, she never truly believed it. She thought her mother was too bossy and her brother was a boring prude. Her dad was the only member of her family she felt bonded to growing up, and was disappointed to be separated from him in a custody hearing. He spoiled her, and so she expected that from others.

Recently, however, Pistol was having a problem. She was 27. She couldn't cruise by on looks alone anymore in the young crowd or the dirty old man crowd. And it became very apparent that the mature crowd was looking for something deeper. Pistol felt neglected. No one had bought her anything in months. But Pistol luckily had a plan.

She sat alone in the middle of the sidewalk and burst into tears. A man walked up to her and asked her, "What's wrong, young lady?"

"Oh, well, you don't want to hear it…" Pistol said.

"No, I do," the man assured, holding her face in his hand. "Tell me what happened."

"Well," Pistol said, "I was just remembering how bad my childhood was…"

"Oh?" the man asked.

"Yeah… my father was abusive," Pistol said.

"Oh my goodness, what did he do?" the man asked.

"He…" Pistol said, and then began to cry harder, "He… called me names all the time, refused me affection, threatened me, and manipulated me… and he made me do _all_ the chores while he and my brother sat around doing nothing. He always punished me when my brother misbehaved. And my brother took advantage of me too, though not as badly… my mom was too busy to protect me all the time."

"That sounds awful," the man said.

"It was. It was so bad I never smiled until I was eleven years old, when I met my first and only friend…" she said.

"Well at least you have a friend," the man said.

"Yeah, but he always… forced me to engage in dangerous schemes. Plus he… almost dumped me because of something I didn't do multiple times," Pistol said.

"My god, your life sounds completely unenviable," the man said, "No wonder you had a breakdown in the middle of the street."

"I went to a psychiatrist and they said my dad left me with a lot of little disorders, but sadly I can't remember what they are right now… anyway, I haven't even mentioned the fact that I was almost murdered in college by a sports rival, have I?" Pistol asked.

"No, but oh…" the man said. "I just wish there was something I could do to help…"

"Well, there is… _one_ thing," Pistol said, stopping the water-works and beginning to smirk a little. "I think a big diamond necklace would take my mind off the pain."

"Not a problem," the man said. He signed and handed over a blank check. "Do whatever you need to, young lady. And if you need anything else," he said, handing over his phone number, "We can keep in touch."

Pistol bought the necklace as well as some other jewelry with the blank check.

Pistol's brother, PJ, walked by. He was astonished by how much jewelry his sister was wearing.

"Where'd you get the money, Pistol?" PJ asked in a cynical tone.

"Using my noggin to outsmart some suckers," Pistol responded.

"That's what I was afraid of…" PJ responded.

"Hey," Pistol said, "How do you get money?"

"By working?" PJ said. "You know, like people work?"

"Blah, blah, boring!" Pistol said. "Look, it's no big deal."

"You're turning into Dad," PJ said.

"You say that like it's a bad thing!" Pistol said.

"It _is_ a bad thing! He gave me depression, anxiety both social and general, low self-esteem, turned me into an overly mature and despairing doormat…" PJ noticed that Pistol was taking notes. "What are you doing?"

"Oh, just making my story more believable," Pistol said.

"What?" PJ asked. "I was trying to explain why Dad was bad news and you weren't even listening!"

"Huh?" Pistol asked. Then she pondered the point and said, "Sure, let's go with that."

"I can't believe this, Pistol," PJ said. "I don't know why I still try to reason with you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to help the Goofs prepare for Alexa's birthday party."

"See ya!" Pistol said. As soon as PJ was out of earshot, she looked once again at the notes she had written. "If I wanna ensnare more suckers, I've gotta memorize this list."

The next day, Pistol fell onto her knees and started sobbing once again, and gave the same spiel to a woman, only this time it was slightly different near the end. After mentioning almost getting murdered, she said, "I went to a psychiatrist and they said that my dad had caused me depression, anxiety both social and general, low self-esteem, and something about manure and doors… I didn't quite understand that part."

"Well, I'm afraid I don't either," the woman said. "But the rest of it sounds unsurprising giving your history. You poor sweet angel. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Well," Pistol said, with a knowing smirk, "A gorgeous sparkly gown would be helpful."

"Here, I'll take you shopping right now and buy you the dress you want," she said.

In the boutique, Pistol picked out a long flowing glittery golden dress, which the woman bought her without a second thought.

PJ's best friend and Pistol's former neighbor, Max Goof, walked by at the time.

"Whoa, nice dress, Pistol!" Max said. "How did you ever afford it?"

"Suckers' money," Pistol said.

"Pistol," Max said. "I'd love to reprimand you for that, but I'm afraid that might make me a teensy bit hypocritical. Still… I guess I'd have to know what the scheme is before I can judge."

"Well, Max, I'm not gonna tell," Pistol said.

"Why not?" Max asked curiously.

"Because you'll tell Peej and then he'll come chew me out again," Pistol said.

"Come on, Pistol," Max said.

"No," Pistol said. "I'm not stupid."

"Fine," Max said.

Pistol then realized she did need PJ's help a little more. She called his office phone. He picked up and answered, "PenBeat, how can we rephrase your thoughts today?"

"Oh, hey, Peej!" Pistol said.

"Pistol, I've told you. I only take personal calls on my cell phone, this is the office phone," PJ said.

"I know," Pistol said, "But I have a diction question."

"Oh?" PJ asked, "I'm genuinely surprised by that."

"So you know how you were telling me dad was bad news…" Pistol said.

"Yeah…" PJ said, "And you were too busy embellishing your story to pay attention."

"Yeah, sorry, bro. I did hear most of it. Do you remember what you said dad turned you into?" Pistol asked.

"Oh, I believe I said 'an overly mature and despairing doormat.'… Does it matter?" PJ asked.

"Yeah, it does," Pistol said.

"For what?" PJ asked.

"I just… that sounds awesome. With the two d words right next to each other, what's that called again?" Pistol asked.

"Umm… alliteration?" PJ asked.

"I always thought that was when they let out your suits because they were all too tight for you," Pistol said.

"That's alteration," PJ said. "It's okay, it's an easy mistake."

"Then what's it called when a bride leaves a groom at the altar?" Pistol asked.

"Leaving the groom at the altar? Or if you wanted to go the cliché route, you could say she got cold feet," PJ said.

Pistol was physically restraining herself from falling asleep. She had to pretend she was interested because she knew if she let it show she wasn't, he'd get very suspicious.

"That's been very informative," Pistol said, "Thanks, brother, I have a new appreciation for the English language."

"Glad to hear it," PJ said.

Pistol slammed down the phone and groaned, "Ugh… why couldn't his calling be something cool?" The phone call was very useful though, because now Pistol had the last piece of the puzzle.

The next day she tried it again with a younger man, and included every detail. "You poor dear," the man said, looking at her. "Can I do anything to help?"

"Of course you can," Pistol said. "I… see, I'm sure a new pair of designer shoes will help me take my mind off the pain."

"Of course," the man said. "I'll be right back."

"Another day, another sucker," Pistol said, but she was startled by the countertenor she heard behind her.

"What sucker? Pistol!" PJ said.

"Oh, PJ!" Pistol said. "I didn't see you there. How long have you been here?"

"I just got here," he said. "Why?"

"You better skedaddle," she said.

"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what the heck you're doing!" PJ said.

"No way, brother," Pistol said, "And leave. Now."

"No, Pistol, I'm not going to!" PJ said.

"Alright, PJ," Pistol said. "But you have to promise…"

"Oh, hey," the man said, returning the shoes to Pistol. "Who's this?"

"This is my brother," Pistol said.

"Oh, you spoiled brat!" the man said, pointing at PJ.

"Huh, funny," PJ said, "I think you were pointing at the wrong person."

"Like hell I was," the man said. "Your poor innocent sister didn't get any love from the dad who spoiled you, and you took advantage of her on top of that."

"What." PJ responded. He gave Pistol a look that appeared to be halfway between a thousand-yard stare and a death glare.

"PJ, it's not…" Pistol began.

"Well, you know what happened to your poor baby sister," the man answered.

"No, actually," PJ said, "Please enlighten me."

"Well, she told me about your father's abuse towards her and parental favoritism towards you plus you piling on, her lack of friends, the fact her one friend forced her into a bunch of dangerous schemes and wrongly blamed her multiple times, the fact she was almost murdered by a school sports rival, the fact she was never happy until she was eleven, and a ton of mental health issues…" the man said.

"Mental health issues? Can you quote her on that?" PJ asked.

"Well, let's see how well I do: 'depression, anxiety both social and general, low self-esteem and turned' her 'into' an—I believe it was—'overly mature and despairing doormat,'" the man said.

"I knew it," PJ responded.

"PJ," Pistol said, "Don't be mad."

"Don't be mad? You stole my entire life story!" PJ said, "And slandered me in the process, thank you very much."

Pistol started crying.

"Oh stop with the fake tears, Pistol," PJ said. "You're not five anymore."

"Stealing your life story? Slander? And now you don't even think she's really crying!" the man asked. "Your sister has suffered quite enough for your ridiculous accusations."

"Fine," PJ said. "Don't believe me. I just have my mom, my best friend, my wife, and my son to back me up."

"Your mom who was too busy to protect you from your dad," the man said.

"Yep, until the divorce," PJ said.

"What divorce?" the man asked.

"Our parents' divorce where Pistol got to stay with Mom and I had to stay with Dad," PJ said, "Did she forget to mention that part when stealing my life story? Because it was an enormous deal to me."

"Shoot," Pistol said under her breath, "I knew I missed something…"

"And your best friend who forces you to do dangerous schemes?" he asked.

"He hasn't done that since settling down with his wife and having a daughter," PJ said, "Though he does try to involve my son at times."

"You have a wife and son?" he asked.

"Yeah… in 1999 I met the love of my life. I thought—knew—she was way out of my league in every conceivable way, so I just stood back and pined from afar. She was also way too cool for me; she rejected my friend—well, okay, he's really more of a friend of a friend, but we spent time together—without a second thought, and then… she started flirting with me, so I recited something for her. She asked me out and all of the sudden, years of troubles felt like they were distant memories. Of course, being away from home and from Dad helped a lot with that too.

"But since then I've made a major recovery from all those mental disorders Pistol claimed she had instead of me, graduated with honors with an English BA, got married young, vowed to stay far, far, far, far away from my dad for the rest of my life, started a freelance custom note business with my wife as well as writing a self-published illustrated anthology, and began raising my son in ways better than I was ever treated" PJ said.

"Sounds like you've really crawled out of the abyss," the man said.

"Yeah, I have," PJ said. "My childhood and adolescence nearly killed me many times over. I truly believe it's a miracle that I not only survived but came out a stronger and better person than the psychiatrist's diagnoses could ever have predicted."

Pistol stood by in awe of how well PJ told the story. Any rehearsal would have still been second to the truth.

"You claim your sister stole your life story," the man said, "But it doesn't sound like she stole the ending."

"Of course not," PJ said. "The ending is the only part that isn't 100% pathetic."

"Well, if what you're saying is true then… you're the one with the terrible childhood and adolescence. Please tell me the attempted murder was an embellishment," he said.

"Technically, I don't think he was trying to _murder_ me exactly, it was more just life-threatening assault," PJ said. The man stared.

"You keep mitigating the story you claim she stole from you," the man said. "Why?"

"Because I'm a forgiving person. I'll never forget the way Dad traumatized me, but truth be told the main reason I keep reminding myself of it is just so I know to avoid his potential future abuse, not because I want to be mad at him for the past abuse forever," PJ said. "This did all happen years ago, but people have told me I forgive too quickly and easily in general."

"A doormat…" the man noted.

Pistol muttered, "I'm screwed."

"Well, I suppose it's only fair that I give you a chance. Can I give you anything?" the man asked.

"You mean like a hug? I mean, things might have changed for the better… it's been so much better for the last 16 years than it was for the first 18… but I wouldn't refuse a hug if you're offering me one," PJ said. "If you're not that's fine too."

"Just a hug?" the man asked. "Your sister was demanding way more than that."

"Of course she was," PJ said, "Pistol was a spoiled brat. I wasn't."

The man held PJ briefly and then said, "I'm sorry I believed her word over yours. The more I hear you talk the more clear it is that you were the one who went through hell, not her."

"Can I keep the shoes though?" Pistol asked.

"Well, they're not returnable," the man said, "And I doubt your brother's into it. Maybe his wife is…"

"My wife's fashion sense is exactly like mine," PJ responded. "But I'm sure Stacey would love them."

"Oh come on, don't give them to Stacey!" Pistol said. "I can't bear the thought of my ex being attracted to my shoes on someone else!"

"Actually, a nice platform like this would go great on Mrs. Goof," PJ said.

"Don't give them to Max's stepmom, come on! They're not granny shoes!" Pistol complained.

"Well, who can we give it to?" the man asked. Then PJ had a thought.

Alexa Goof was happy to receive a pair of shoes for her birthday, though they were too big for her at the time. "They'll fit nicely when you grow up," Max said. "Thanks for the shoes, Pistol."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Pistol said, clearly not happy at all.

"So… are you going to apologize for stealing my life story?" PJ asked.

"You're a lot harder to take advantage of than you used to be," Pistol complained. "Why'd you have to grow a spine?"

"So that's a no, then?" PJ asked. "You really are turning into Dad. Look, I'll explain this to you in terms you can understand. You weren't happy you had to give up the shoes, right?"

"No," Pistol said.

"Well, if you keep pulling dishonest schemes on people who don't deserve it, you're going to find yourself paying a lot," PJ said.

"What about you? You never did anything even remotely bad and your life was so horrible I stole it for pity points," Pistol responded.

"Well, for a time," PJ said. "I did manage to find a happy ending, though. And you can too if you change your ways. How's Dad recently?"

"He's desperate for contact with you," Pistol said. "He misses you so much. And he never really got over Mom either. He didn't even know your wife's name or that you had a son…" The shocked realization showed on her face. "I'm the only person in the family who has any contact with him at all."

PJ said, "Pistol, it might seem okay now, because you don't have any long-term relationships to ruin. But one day, if you have kids or a spouse of your own, and you treat them the way that Dad treated Mom and me, you're putting yourself at risk of losing them forever. I know you don't want that."

"You're right," Pistol said. "I don't. Peej, I'm sorry about what I did. Will you forgive me?"

"Of course," PJ said, giving Pistol a noogie. "You're my sister and I love you. It's not your fault Dad is the worst role model on the planet."

"Nuh-uh," Pistol said. "The worst role model on the planet is that sports rival who tried to kill you, what was his name again, Brandon?"

"Bradley?" PJ asked. "Alright, conceded. Back when I knew him he was so evil he made Dad look like Mr. Goof."

"Maybe you're pushing it, bro," Pistol joked.

"Yeah, well," PJ said, "At least you finally understand that Dad is bad news."

"Hey," Pistol said, "I could always look up to Max instead! He's just as into zany schemes and he did pretty well for himself!"

"Because Max has actual standards because he actually listens to his conscience more than twice a year?" PJ asked, "Meh, I wouldn't choose it, but you're not a kid anymore. As long as you aren't looking up to literal criminals I guess I don't mind."

"Awesome!" Pistol said. She looked at the jewelry and the dress that she had swindled out of her previous marks, and sent them over to her mother, Peg, for Mother's Day, signed from Pistol and PJ. Peg was very happy to receive the gift and called both children to thank them. When PJ said he didn't remember sending anything, Peg happily recounted what the gift was, and he realized that Pistol had given him credit for his contribution to her zany scheme.

Though he was unwitting and unwilling to be involved, his eyes welled up with tears of happiness that his sister, for one, selflessly gave up her ill-gotten goods, and for another, actually gave him credit for something. If she was turning into their father, it certainly wasn't complete. And that is why Pistol will remain in contact with her entire family for the rest of their lives.


End file.
